We're Not Canon
by LucieLuck
Summary: Draco X Hermione? Luna x Neville? More couples that aren't featured in the Harry Potter series? This is the story for you. ONLY RATED M BECAUSE OF LANGUAGE. Draco, Hermione, Luna, Neville, etc. are copywrited by J.K. Rowling and do NOT belong to me. Besides that commercial opening-Hi! I'm Lucie, and this is my first series on FanFiction. Please comment what I should improve on!
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

 **Dramione**

 _One_.

A gleaming snowflake soars past Hermione's face.

 _Two. Three._

A particularly large and fluffy piece of snow lands on her nose, sending shivers up her spine. Hermione lets out a breathy giggle into the frigid air as she steps away from the edge of the Owlery. Winding her scarf tighter around her neck, Hermione starts down the steps to Hogwarts, trailing her hand along the outside of the tower.

As she walks, Hermione continues to count the snowflakes that whip through the air, trying to ignore the cold seeping through her woolen mittens. _Four. Five._ One flashed by her face, white as Draco's hair.

 _Draco_.

She shook her head, hair falling in her face, and banished any thoughts she had of the Slytherin boy. _What would Harry say? What would_ Ron _say?_

It was after Voldemort had been killed, after all that madness. This was their last year of school at Hogwarts—and after that, she would probably stay to become a teacher or at least help with classes. She didn't want to ruin her perfectly good relationships by bringing up that troublemaker. That devilishly handsome, witty, irksome troublemaker.

After all, she had Ron to keep her company. She'd finally won him over, and he wasn't going _anywhere_. But… Ron's attention leapt from thing to thing. He'd soon be with another girl, if he wasn't already. Hermione stumbled at the thought, her boots slipping on the ice.

She fell on her butt, ice seeping through her wool skirt. Yelping, Hermione fumbled to get a grip on the icy railing—

And speak of the devil, there he was.

Draco sneered down at her, but after years in the same school as him, Hermione realized that he was only acting for the two goons behind him, Crabbe and Goyle. Underneath that evil smirk was a little boy. A boy who was scared of being weak, so instead of being welcoming he armored himself with barbs.

But Malfoy's goons, who normally followed him everywhere, were nowhere to be found. He extended his hand to the girl frozen on the steps of the Owlery Tower.

Hermione, after a moment's hesitation, took his hand and stood, quivering, on the steps of the tower. Her boots still slid, but this time she was ready and lunged for the railing. Malfoy stood there, his eyes sad.

She shook her head at him. "What's wrong now? It's not like you to be in an awful mood."

He stared at her. "What are you going to tell them?" Hermione opened her mouth, but no words came out. "What are you going to tell them about us? How you pretended to go to the girls' dorms to study, but came to hang out with me in the catacombs?"

Hermione shook her head again—twice, three times. She couldn't tell them. It would break their hearts, their stupid, fragile hearts… Ron still thought she loved him, and even though it took her so long to win him over, she wasn't satisfied. Her heart, which had belonged to Ron for so long during their childhood, had changed. And that's why she hadn't told her friends about Malfoy—she was waiting for her heart to change _again_ , so she wouldn't have to deal with…whatever this was.

Draco slid past her, his face set in stone—but Hermione felt his hand ever-so-slightly brush the back of her hair, the curls entangling his hand like they didn't want to let him go. She knew what it meant, what that tiny gesture was. _I'll wait for you,_ he seemed to say. _But I'll tell them myself if I have to._

Hermione shuddered, turning around and rewrapping her scarf. Inwardly, she screamed. _I don't want to lose my friendships! I'm too selfish, Draco! Too selfish!_

Outwardly, all she did was stand up and continue down the steps, her feet connecting more solidly—and loudly—with the stone than before. He was so _frustrating_. Gloriously beautiful, kind, and sad, but also so _damn frustrating._

As she reached the landing that led inside, Hermione kicked the snow off her boots. She ducked inside the doorway, shutting the heavy slab of wood and metal behind her, and brushed the snow off her coat. Still stomping, Hermione continued through the hallways and up the moving staircases until she, at last, faced the Fat Lady.

The painted woman giggled at the sight of her. "Spending some time with ruffians, I see," she teased. Hermione wordlessly raised her wand, and a glimmer of fire spread along the tip. The Fat Lady blanched, and swung open the door. Hermione stepped inside without a second glance.

Ron wouldn't be in today. No, it was Fred's birthday—he and his whole family were at the graveyard today. _Paying their respects,_ Hermione thought, almost bitterly. They wouldn't let her come. Not because of how tense she and Ron had been lately—no, because that was the only thing the whole Weasley family could rally around, and they wanted to keep that little bit to themselves.

She didn't blame them, not really. But she wanted to visit too. And sitting around in the common room, waiting for Harry to get back from meeting with Ginny—or whoever he was dating on the side—and Ron from the cemetery was nerve-racking to be honest.

Hermione trudged upstairs to the empty girls' dormitory, throwing her coat and boots on the ground next to her bed. After quickly changing into clothes that were _not_ freezing and magicking a cup of tea onto her bedside table, Hermione snuggled into her covers and pulled a book out from under the bed.

This one wasn't a schoolbook—it was a tale of knights and warrior princesses, a medieval woman's rights tale that set Hermione on the edge of her chair. She just couldn't read it fast enough. But, entertaining as it was, her eyes just slipped over the words, not registering anything. Hermione had to set the book down, and without anything else to do, she laid on her side and tried to review her homework.

But all she could think about was Draco's unspoken message. _I'll tell them for the both of us,_ was what he seemed to say. Hermione pulled the covers over her head, trying to block it out. _Why can't I have both?_ She asked herself. _Is it so bad to want_ three _friends?_

Of course, Hermione had other friends. The all-female study group that met on Wednesdays. The Hufflepuff girl in her Transfiguration class. She even stopped to have conversations with the ghosts that wandered Hogwarts' hallways—when she wasn't running late for class, that is.

But Harry and Ron had been through _so much_ with her… surely they'd trust her enough to be with Malfoy. Not this awkward friendship they had, but to run her hands through his hair, to talk to him openly in the hallways…

…To look at him in the eye and feel no self-pity or guilt, to breathe in the scent of his cloak, to fight off any girls that dared approach him…

 _Oh gods,_ Hermione shook her head, as if clearing cobwebs. _Now I sound possessive_.

Unable to read, study, or sleep, Hermione got out of bed in defeat and went downstairs to the common room.

It was much warmer down by the couch—whether from the fireplace or the red-faced Harry Potter, she couldn't be sure. Hermione sat down beside him without a moment's hesitation. "Everything alright?"

Harry growled, a deep sound from the back of his throat. "Ginny says that she doesn't want to be with me anymore."

"What?!" Hermione exclaimed. "Why in the world would she say that?"

Harry slammed his fist on the wooden coffee table, making Hermione jump. "She says she won't be seen with a cheating, cocky git. And here I was, thinking that all was right with the world."

Hermione slowly slid her gaze over to Harry, her hands fingering a book on the table. "You did cheat on her, Harry." When he opened his mouth to speak, she held up a hand. "Seven girls. Remilda first, I think. Then Cho, Ally, Fern, Catherine… who were the others?"

"It doesn't matter now," Harry whispered, his anger giving way to defeat. "She'll never take me back—not now, not ever."

Hermione shook her head. And boys said that _she_ was dramatic. "I've learned that a box of chocolates does wonders," she patted his back, recalling the time when Ron's new owl had torn one of Hermione's books to shreds. Not only had the redhead replaced the book, he had also bought a box of chocolates. _I'll actually be a little sad when our relationship finally breaks,_ she lamented. _I was happy with Ron, for a while._

 _But not as happy as I will be with Draco._

Harry groaned, and she took her hand off of him as he stood. "Let me sober up with a shower, and I'll be right back," he muttered. _Of course he's drinking again,_ Hermione thought, her face pinching like she'd eaten something sour. _No wonder Ginny threw him out._

She watched The Man Who Lived walk up to the boys dormitory, and sighed. He was crushed now—how would he be when she told him about Draco? Furious? Or just as broken? _I think I would prefer to see him mad than dejected,_ Hermione thought.

Hermione absentmindedly started flipping through the pages of the book she had been fingering earlier. A while later, Harry comes down and sits next to her, leaning on one side of the couch. He looked absolutely beat, so when he fell asleep some time later, Hermione didn't dare wake him.

It had to be hours later when the door to the Gryffindor common room finally banged open. Ron, with puffy eyes and a black jacket, stumbled through the door. By the smell of him, he had obviously just been drinking—and sleeping—with someone else.

She shook her head, ignoring Harry as he stood up to greet his pal. _One of the reasons I should be in the Slytherin labrinths right now, sitting with Draco,_ Hermione thought. Sitting with Draco, so she didn't have to see her 'boyfriend' cheating on her.

Ron headed upstairs to get changed, and soon after all three of them were crowded around the fireplace. Most of the Gryffindors were on winter break at home, or at Hogsmead for a field trip, but the trio had decided to stay behind and just rest for a week.

 _Damn it,_ Hermione realized. _This is the perfect chance to explain to them. Draco'll glare at me for a month if I don't tell them now._

Hermione slowly turned to face her two companions, and opened her mouth. Ron and Harry, sensing she had something to say, turned towards her as well. No words came out. But Hermione had read all about these moments, where people prolong the truth and it just gets worse. So she forced it all out.

"I've been seeing Draco."

Ron and Harry exchanged glances. "Yeah, we see 'im all the time," Ron said. "He's ruddy everywhere."

Hermione shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. "I mean I'm _with_ him, you stupid git!"

Ron's mouth fell open, but Harry just sat back. His eyes flashed with distrust and sadness, but also a resignation. Ron, however, was just mad.

"I can't flipping believe you're going out with him! Do you know what that right-foul _git_ has done to us? What he's done to _you_ , for that matter!"

"Then how come, after all he's put us through, I love him more than I do you, Ron?!" Hermione nearly screeched at him. "How come _every_ _bloody time_ you come back from school, you smell like beer and another girl?!"

Ron and Harry gaped. Even when Ron had first dated Lavender, even when Ron had ruined the Winter Ball for her, even when Harry had done any number of stupid things, Hermione had never screamed like this. Or cursed like this, for that matter.

"I _finally_ work up the nerve to tell you, and I get no reward at all, except now that you'll frown at me whenever I head towards the catacombs or scoot away from you when you try to snog me!" Hermione yelled. "I want to be with the man I love, not the one I used to love, the one that's now putting me through all this _shit!_ "

She stood, her sweater vest moving with each heaving breath. Harry reached to grab her arm, but she just pulled away and ran out the door. She didn't dare stop at the staircases in fear of them coming after her, so instead Hermione just kept going. Running down, down, down the moving steps, not caring where she ended up as long as it was away from _them_ and their broken feelings—their broken _trust_.

Hermione ran through the conversation in her head, balking at her foul language. Had she really said _shit_? That was a new low, especially for her. Panting, Hermione stopped at the next flat ground and took heaving breaths. When she was done, Hermione looked up and was shocked to find she had ran all the way down to the catacombs.

She strode down the hall, her steps out of time and wobbly. Hermione ignored the painting on the wall that led to the Slytherin common room, and instead knocked on the wall just around the frame. Instantly, a Slytherin first-year opened the door. When he beheld her in all her sweaty glory, he grimace and made to shut the painting. Hermione stuck out her foot, catching it just in time and wincing from the pain of the door being shut on her toes.

Prying the door back open, she said, "I'm here for Draco."

When the first-year did nothing but watch her warily, she added, "I'm his flipping _girlfriend._ "

At least, she hoped she was.

The first-year ran back from the door, and she could hear murmurs from the common room before Draco stepped into her field of vision, grand in his dark green cape and tie. He took one look at her face, exhausted, sorrowful, and so, so _despicably_ angry, and led her down into the catacombs.

"What happened?" Draco asked, his voice soft.

"I told them," Hermione spit on the floor. " _I did what you said, and it all went to hell._ "

And so she recounted her experience that may have just ended the two greatest friendships she had ever had. Draco pulled her close and let her cry, cry out all of the pain and the sad. When she was done, Hermione kicked the wall until both her feet hurt. Then she curled up on the ground next to Draco, her head in his lap.

"I did all of that," she finished. "And I don't even know what this relationship is."

Draco smiled, that sad smile that he only gave to her—only trusted _her_ with. "Well, I thought you liked me."  
"I do like you," Hermione said. "I like you…a lot. I just don't know if you think we're friends, or—or something more, like…" her voice trailed off, begging him to finish her sentence so it wouldn't be so awkward.

Draco pulled her in tight. "Hermione, you are the smartest, most beautiful, most _empathetic_ girl at this school. You think I would tell you to send your world to hell if it meant I wouldn't be with you?"

She looked up just in time to see him lean in and kiss her.

Hermione's kisses with Ron had always been passionate—heck, they had their first when they were in a _basilisk chamber_ —but this was something… more. Something that reached deeper inside of her, pulling out not just lust but happiness and regret that she hadn't told her friends sooner. If they were still her friends.

But here, with Draco, tucked away in their warm—but damp—nook, she could breathe, and cry, and smile, and—

Hermione let out a laugh as Draco pulled her closer, the first laugh since this whole drama had started. Sure, she let out giggles at jokes and at the snow, when it landed on her and sent shivers down her spine—much like Draco was doing now—but those weren't _real_ laughs, they weren't _full_ joy. Right now, Hermione loved that her world had fallen to hell, and that she could spend time with the one person who understood the chaos lurking behind the books.

 _You're snogging with the enemy,_ Hermione imagined Ron saying. He had said something like that before, at the Winter Ball when she had been dancing with Victor Krum. She wasn't going to let Ron ruin this relationship as well, so Hermione banished thoughts of him from her brain and turned her mind to Draco.

She didn't return to the Gryffindor common room until late that evening.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

 **Dramione**

Hermione let out a long breath. It had been a week since she'd told her friends about her relationship with the notorious Slytherin, and it had gotten slightly better. Harry had come to apologize to her up on the Owlery tower last Tuesday.

It had been snowing even more that day, with fierce gales pushing snow all over the place. The owls had been sleeping more often, depending on younger wizards to come up the icy steps and bring them food and timber for their measly fire. It was Hermione's turn that day—her name was magickally picked from a top hat—but what she hadn't expected was Harry, following her up the steps.

When they were inside the tower, safe from the windy interruptions, Harry confronted her. "I'm really sorry about how I acted," He said, looking at the floor like an ashamed little boy. "I knew you were hanging out with him, but not like…that."

Hermione blushed. "It's only recently been like… _that_ ," she defended herself. "And you have nothing to be sorry for. _I'm_ sorry for needlessly cussing and shouting at you—and at Ron." She shuffled her feet around in the snow that had blown inside. "Speaking of Ron… have you two been… talking, much?"

Harry gave her a nod, then reconsidered and shook his head instead. "We talk about anything but you, to be honest," he said, and his eyes turned remorseful. "I respect the decisions you're making, but… how do you know that he won't hurt you?"

Hermione's voice hardened. "Like how _Ron_ hurt me?"

"Like how Ron hurt you," Harry conceded.

They stood in silence for a minute, but all too soon it was time for Hermione to meet Draco for lunch. "Thanks," Hermione blurted. "For… not hating me."

Harry smiled, and she was inexplicably reminded of how uncomplicated things were before they grew up, before Voldemort snuck into their lives. That first year, when she had been so nervous about fitting in with wizard-born children, and found the two most interesting people on that train ride when looking for a toad…

But the smile was gone too soon. And soon was the rest of Hermione's time.

She stumbled back down the steps, making an excuse about heading to her next class. As soon as she was inside, she pulled off her gloves and ran back to her dorm to have a good cry.

Now, Hermione was sitting in the Great Hall, studying her books while snacking on a stale protein bar. Even though it was December, students still shot her confused glances. _Why aren't you out of school?_ they seemed to say. It turns out that everyone who was at school during Snape's reign was held back a year since the teachers during that time were 'governed unjustly'. Also, Hermione and her two companions were hunting Horcruxes that year, so they weren't educated at all.

Her mind wandering away from her book, Hermione flashed back to when she had first met Draco after the war. His dad had been caught and imprisoned, but not before yelling at Draco like never before. She had found him deep inside the catacombs, and at first had insulted him about supporting their cause.

 _"You have no backbone!" she had yelled. Draco had crumpled against the wall, his eyes gleaming—not with rage, as she had originally thought, but with tears._

 _"You're the reason they got in_ at all _… you're the reason Ron's brother is dead, that Tonks and Lupin are_ dead _, that all of our friends are_ dead _!" She was screaming now, shrieking at him like her lungs were on fire._

 _"Yell at me," he had begged. "Hit me. Do_ something _."_

 _Hermione had paused. "No," she finally said, trying to stop her frantic tears but failing miserably. "Y-You're not worth the effort."_

 _Draco sighed. And then, after she had reluctantly slid to the floor beside him, he had told her what his dad had done to him before Draco had ratted him out to the Ministry._

Hermione still felt guilty about yelling at him like that, when Draco had to be falling apart at the seams. His mother never left the house, ever since Bellatrix had been sentenced and her husband thrown in Azkaban. But, in the end, Hermione had grown closer to Draco by shaming him.

With a jolt, Hermione realized she had been staring at the Slytherin table while spacing out. She felt her face flush red as Draco's eyes connected with hers and he gave her a smirk. Hermione shoved her face back into her book and shook with embarrassment—she could hear the Slytherin's laughing from the Gryffindor table.

Later that night, Hermione stumbled down into the catacombs. She was wrapped in a blanket, wearing only socks on her feet, and almost giddy with exhaustion. But she still climbed down the steps and found their meeting place. Draco was already there, and turned to her with a smile.

Sharing her blanket, the pair stared out into the darkness of the underground halls. "Why do you like being down here?" Hermione had asked once. Draco had replied, "I don't. I go here because I know no one else likes being down here."

But now, with Draco at her side, a guy who was once an evil, squeaky, annoying boy who she would love to sock in the face—with him at her side, she didn't feel so lonely. Or so violent.

"So," Draco started, turning towards her. "What was the scene in the lunchroom about?"

Hermione blushed. "I just spaced out."

She continued to try to defend herself, withstanding Draco's teasing, but soon she got too tired to continue talking and leaned on Draco's shoulder.

Draco glanced at Hermione, sleeping peacefully next to—and partially on top of—him. He brushed her hair back from her face and looked at her, _really_ looked at her.

 _She's so brave,_ he thought. _After all she's been through, she's never really broken. And look at me. I'm_ pitiful _compared to her._ Draco glared at his hand, as if he could shout at himself.

But he shook his head. It was past time to stop being so self-obsessed. It wasn't about just him anymore—it was about him and Hermione, and their future. Speaking of future, Draco hadn't the faintest idea how to date someone. _I should ask how Weasley treated her,_ Draco thought. _See what_ not _to do._

But at the moment, Draco just lifted her up and carried her to outside of the Gryffindor common room.

When Hermione woke up, she was laying on the Gryffindor couch. Rubbing her eyes and feeling bleary, she sat up and was face-to-face with Ron. They hadn't spoken since she'd admitted hanging out with Draco—and now, here he was, glaring at the fireplace like he'd love to watch it burn to pieces.

"R-Ron?" Hermione asked, unsettled by the intensity in her eyes.

Ron sighed, not bothering to turn to her. "You're making a mistake." Hermione fumed. Before she could interrupt him, though, Ron continued. "He's just going to hurt you!"

Hermione let out a breath. She knew she wouldn't get a word in until he finished ranting, so she let him continue his reasoning. "He's just going to hurt you, Hermione," Ron said—were there tears in his eyes? "He's going to hurt you, and betray you. Right now he's just won you over—after a couple of weeks, he's just going to toss you aside like a bit of ruddy garbage."

"Like _you_ hurt me? Like _you_ betrayed me? Like you won me over and then, after a couple of weeks, tossed me aside like a piece of garbage?" Hermione's voice was quiet. She didn't want to have this argument—didn't want to rip Ron farther away from her than he already was.

Ron ran his hand over his face. "I know… I know I treated you badly. A-And I know that it's not my place to criticize you after you think you've found happiness. But as a friend, because I could never think of you as anything less in my life—as a friend, I have to tell you that you're making a mistake."

"Funny," Hermione said. "Harry's been more of a friend than you have. He came up to the Owlery tower and apologized to me about that night, while you've just been a recluse and avoided me like the plague!"

"And whenever I came in the room, you walked out!" Ron replied, fuming. He took a deep breath, then stood. "I guess I can't persuade you."

Hermione grabbed his hand. "Ron. I know you don't trust me with this, but as your friend…"

He looked down at her, and for a second his rage softened.

"…As your friend, I hope you'll trust me to make my own decisions. And, before you go, how did I get here?"

Ron's eyes hardened again, and now all she could see was the boyfriend that came back every night smelling like beer and perfume. "Your new boyfriend dropped you off. I was walking up the same time as him. He said… he said you fell asleep by him."

"But I didn't…"

"No."

Hermione sighed—with relief or embarrassment, she couldn't tell. "Thanks, Ron." She let go of his hand, and lay back down on the couch. Ron stood there for a second, looking at her like he could see through her skin, and then left.

 _I thought it was all over,_ Hermione thought. _I guess there's still some stuff to take care of around Gryffindor house. Has Draco even told the Slytherins about me? About_ us _?_

She shook her head, and slipped back into sleep.

That next evening, Hermione decided to go to the catacombs early, to see if she could meet Draco by the Slytherin house entrance. She wore only socks again, as well as the blanket and a thick sweater.

One turn away from the Slytherin common room entrance, Hermione heard voices. She slowed to a stop by the edge of the corner and listened, shrouded in shadow.

"What do you _mean_ , you 'have someone else'?!" A girls voice, enraged, echoed across the stone tiles.

A familiar voice replied to her— _Draco_. The sound sent shivers up her spine, it was that cold. "I mean what I mean, Veronica. I have a girlfriend, and it's not you."

"But you _promised!_ " The girl shouted. "You said you would be my Draky-poo!"

 _Now that's just stupid_ , Hermione thought.

She could almost hear Draco wince. "Don't call me that."

"Then what _should_ I call you? Promise breaker? Liar? Cheater?"

Hermione stepped around the corner and into the faint light of the hallway's lanterns. "What about ' _Hermione's_ '?"

While Veronica stood there, gaping, Hermione took the chance to size up her competition. Veronica was a pitifully skinny Slytherin girl, with dull, short crimson hair and brown eyes. Her cloak was literally swamping her, and her hair was spiked in every direction, much like a sea urchin. _Is this all Slytherin has to offer?_ Hermione thought, then immediately took back the thought. She remembered seeing gorgeous Maggie in the lunch hall—so why'd Draco promise his heart to this one? After all…

"Draco, you could do much better," Hermione said, finishing her thought.

Veronica fumed, and looked ready to start a catfight—which would be really cliché, by the way—when Draco laughed, and any resistance Veronica had vanished. "S-She isn't…" The Slytherin girl gulped. "She's not your…girlfriend, is she?"

Draco nodded, all mirth gone, and Hermione watched the girl carefully to see how she would react. Veronica had hung her head, seemingly staring at a particularly interesting crack in the floor. Then something wet splashed in between her feet. The girl spun around and ran, past Draco and into the depths of the catacombs.

Hermione looked sympathetically after her, reminded of how Ron had ruined her time at the Yule Ball. This was a disturbingly similar situation—but this time, Hermione felt like Ron.

Draco sighed, and, his mind seemingly on other things, went to Hermione and wrapped her up in a hug. She let out a laugh, and they stood there for a while, basking in the glory that was the absence of loneliness.

They spent a long time down there, whispering reassurances and wrapping their arms around each other like they were the only lifeline they had ever needed. And in that moment, Hermione forgot all about Ron, and Harry, and Gryffindor house—she forgot all about the prejudice and the hatred and Veronica.

In that moment, Hermione could be herself.

They laughed down there, laughing like no one could hear, letting the hallways carry the sound as far as they wished. They _laughed_ , even though they had been through hell and back, fought the dead in their dreams and watched their loved ones die. They had been through one of the bloodiest wars in wizarding history, and _they could still laugh_.

And it was a beautiful sound.

Hey guys! Sorry this chapter was a little short. Also, I apologize for the wait between the two chapters. I know I have only a few followers, and that most people don't approve of Dramione, but I'm still gonna post this. Also, if you dont like Dramione but want to see more of this series/more of my writing, dont worry! The next chapter of "We're Not Canon" will be a Luna x Nevil story, and _their_ struggle to fix themselves after the war. Those who approve of my Dramione, dont you worry either. I'll still write more of this couple!

See you at Hogwarts!

-LucieLuck


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three:**

 **Nuna (Luna/Neville)**

Luna sits in the darkened corner of a cold, abandoned hallway. The current focus of her attention? Getting her sneakers down from the top of an arch. Again.

She pulls off her swirling glasses, taking another look. " _Wingardium Leviosa,_ ' Luna whispers as she waves her wand steadily, and the shoes float down to her. Quickly lacing them on, Luna stood and gracefully leaned down to pluck up her in-progress copy of the Quibbler.

Looking around, her moonlight toned hair shining in the nighttime softness of Hogwarts, Luna made towards Ravenclaw Homeroom.

And from down the hall, Neville slowly and quietly escaped from the pillar he had been hiding behind for two hours, ever since Luna had walked down the hallway and saw her shoes. He hadn't meant to watch her as she sat there, or to get pins-and-needles from sitting there so long. But she had just…drawn him in.

 _Like she always does,_ Neville thought.

His infatuation with her had started his second year at Hogwarts. While everyone else had been freaking out about the giant snake wandering the halls, Neville had been cursing himself over his performance last year. Sure, Dumbledore had noticed him, but he had been paralyzed and still had close to no friends.

He was going to do better that year. _It was my main goal,_ Neville remembered. But when everyone else had decided to help Harry and his friends, the redhead and the smart girl, Neville had been left behind. No mates, no special place at the lunch table, no homework meetings.

And then he had met her.

A blonde, lithe girl had been crying in the hallway. Students were passing by her, uncaring or not even noticing she was there. He had taken one look at her and felt vastly uncomfortable—but then he realized that she was probably as much of an outcast as him. So he'd sat down next to her and hesitantly put his hand on her shoulder.

Her head had snapped up, and her eyes were almost glaring. But then the girl had broken down into tears again, her white-blonde hair falling over her face. "I really miss her," she whispered, her voice like a warm breeze.

"Who?" Neville asked, their conversation ignored by most of the hallway.

The girl wiped her eyes on her sleeve and pushed back her hair, which had—until then—been covering her Ravenclaw tie. "My mother," she whispered.

Neville was on thin ice already—he didn't want to risk asking what had happened. Instead, he stuck out the hand that wasn't on her shoulder and said, "I'm Neville Longbottom."

The girl almost giggled at that. "Your last name is Longbottom?" He let her laugh, even felt a smile on his face, just because it was so much better than her sobbing her heart out in the hallway. When she had finished laughing, the girl wiped her eyes again and stood.

"Thank you, Neville Longbottom." Her voice was gentle, so, so gentle. The girl had almost finished floating into the mob of the hallway before she replied to him. "My name is Luna—Luna Lovegood."

And with that, the girl had melted away into the sea of students like a ghost.

Neville spent the next few years watching for her around school. Sometimes he would catch glimpses of her—at least, he thought it was her—in the hallway, in the library, or reading on a bench out in the courtyard. She sat there like a white-blonde ghost, her vivid blue eyes tracing a line back and forth across a page of words. And he would spin around, realizing that she had been there, to find her gone.

Until last year—when Snape had taken over the school and everyone was cowering in terror. Nevil had found her, crying in that same space, and had sat down next to her again. Luna smiled at him, a sad twist of her mouth, those tears staining her face glimmering in the half-light like forgotten stars. "Don't you wish," her whispery voice broke, and sob interrupted her sentence.

"Don't you wish," Luna whispered, "that we could all be kids again, back in our first year of Hogwarts, with our friends and family?"

"Yes," Neville whispered, and held her close as she sobbed into his shoulder.

She linked her hands around him, stifling her cries in his shirt. "I don't want people to _die,_ Neville," Hearing his name, spoken with such sadness and hurt and regret, made him want to cry as well, to pour out the pain until his body was racked with sobs. But he had no answer, no concrete thing to hold onto, to give to Luna to help her.

So he just held on.

It was only a few weeks after that, when Luna had been called back to her house by her dad. A few weeks after that was Neville told Luna had been taken by the Dark Lord. He'd feared the worst. Every day, he would replenish a tiny shrine with flowers, since he wasn't allowed to go outside and make a grave. The flowers were given to him by house elves, since they could go out to get supplies. He had been so deliriously glad to find out he had been wrong.

After the war, after the bloodshed and the tears and the graves, Neville had sought out Luna. He remembered the day lividly, where he had looked for her in the courtyard. He wandered around, walking around the fountain and turning just enough to spot Luna's reading bench—

-and the two people sitting on it.

One was tall, with long, dirty blonde hair and dark green eyes. For a second, Neville thought it was a girl. But he could hear a deep-throated laughter come from the man. And he knew that way the git was wrapping his arm around Luna's shoulder—it was territorial-like, a simple gesture that spoke to all people, _"This one's mine."_

But that one had been Neville's, at least his dream, for his entire childhood. At first as a friend, but during that dark year at Hogwarts, and after the war, as… something more.

What bothered him most was he didn't even know this guy.

Neville summoned up all his rage, all his self-pity, all… _this._ He sent it in the most hostile glare he had ever had, or seen.

And it fell flat.

"God, Neville, what's going on?" Ron, his face pitying, spun his head around as soon as Neville came in the Gryffindor homeroom.

"Nothing," he replied, shifting the pack on his shoulder and making for the dorm room upstairs. He didn't want to hear Ron's boasting—of how he wasted all his time with a girl that could've made his life heaven by going out, drinking, and having affairs. And after all of that, Ron complained and whined when Hermione had left him for Draco—who, Neville had to admit, had changed quite a bit from the prissy pretty Princess he had been first year.

"'Cmon, spill it, ya git," Ron said, not unfriendly, but definitely drunk.

"I said, _nothing_ ," Neville spat.

The Gryffindor boys started trying to pull Ron back, but the Head Boy was having none of it. "Neville, what's bloody going on with ya?" he teased.

Neville socked him in the face.

Running upstairs, away from the redhead clutching his bloodied nose, Neville flung himself onto his bed. He rustled through his pack, pulling out a sketchbook and quills, and painted a picture of the hurt and betrayal, the anger and the guilt on a single page of paper. When he looked over what he had drawn, it was a wavy curtain of hair, sparkling eyes—

 _Oh bloody hell,_ Neville thought, and tossed the picture of Luna to the floor as he tried to shove thoughts of her out of his mind.

He still remembered that day, and it drove him nuts. He could get so close, so near to her, to reach out and put his hand on her shoulder—but never close enough, for that boyfriend was so near, so close to _her_ , closer than he would ever be…

He found her in the hallway again.

She was crying—had been, in fact, for a couple of days now. Each time, he passed her with the rest of the crowd. He tried to convince himself that she didn't have anything on him. He tried, he tried, he tried…

And eventually failed.

It was the fourth day of avoiding her, and he couldn't take it anymore. He dumped his books down beside her on the bench and sat on the other side, careful to maintain a bit of distance. But his walls broke, again, because he could see the tears falling silently to the polished floor. The floor where blood had been spilled, where family and friends had given their lives.

He moved his books to the floor and hugged her.

Luna squeaked, and Neville had to laugh at that, even though the tears in his eyes. Soon, they were both laughing, a happy sound that echoed through the halls. Neville _really_ wished he had told her before, back when the school was being invaded and everything went to hell.

He hadn't found her in time, because when he did find her it was proclaimed that Harry was dead, and after that, Neville had to go after the snake. And that memory brought back others, as fresh and painful as the day they happened—the dead piled along the halls, the castle in shambles, friends covered with debris—Neville's laugh died in his throat, and he unconsciously he tightened his grip on Luna.

"What's wrong, Neville?" Luna asked, struggling in his hold.

He shook his head regretfully, a slow movement. The tears that had sprung to his eyes slipped down his cheeks, and he found he was blushing, ashamed to show weakness to the person he knew was already shattered beyond repair.

But Luna simply wiped the tears away, and, so swift he nearly missed it, gave him a peck on the cheek.

He loosened his grip just enough for her to wriggle free. "Thanks, Neville," she whispered, and slung her back of books over her shoulder. Her boyfriend walked down the hall and saw them, and for a second, a glimmer of regret flashed over her face.

"I would've picked you," Luna said quickly, her voice merely a breeze of wind. "I would always pick you." Was it a promise?

 _So pick me now,_ he thought, but didn't say anything as she slowly walked away.

Neville slowly reached inside himself, looking at the fractured remains of his heart. And slowly, carefully, he took her words and used them to piece his heart back together. It would never be really fixed—no, he had suffered too much loss for that—but it was full again, loving again.

He took that promise, sentence, whatever it may be, and wrapped it around himself. He would make sure that _somehow_ , Luna would be his. He would take it up with her ever-present snogging chum if he had to.

She had to keep her promise.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four:**

 **Nuna (Luna/Neville)**

Luna strode down the halls, arm in arm with Elis. They had been dating for months now, but it felt… false, somehow. Different, scary, like she had to be constantly aware of what she said or did—she didn't know why.

No, she _did_ know why.

If she spoke about her fears, her worries, her nightmares, it would shatter their relationship. If she shared the dark depths of her demolished soul, Elis would leave. They always left.

 _Neville never left me,_ she thought, and shook her head. Luna had already done so much to him—providing him with the hope that Elis and she would break up, and the fact that they never would came around, it would just shatter him further.

 _But I promised_ , Luna shuddered. She hadn't wanted to say it, hadn't wanted to hope against hope that she could escape what foundation Elis had laid, what promises and vows she had whispered in his ear when they had been curled up in the Ravenclaw common room.

But she had said it.

Elis's attention was drawn towards her sudden movements and troubled face. "Is everything alright?" he asked, his brow creasing.

"Of course! Why wouldn't it be?" Luna said, the lie slipping off her lips easily. Lately, she had been lying to quite a few people. But not to Neville; never to Neville. No, he was too fragile, too…

Elis studied her. "I just wanted to make sure. You look a little… I don't know, breakable?"

 _Breakable_.

 _That_ was the perfect word for describing Neville; he wasn't necessarily fragile, but if you told him the wrong thing, if he trusted in the wrong person, if he realized that no amount of courage could ever triumph over the shadows in his heart—

"I think I'll head back to the girls' dorm and lay down for a bit, then," Luna replied, her face and voice sunny despite the twisting, rolling darkness inside.

—he would break open, his heart and soul and mind too shattered, _too broken to function._

That is no way to live.

"Alright then," Elis said, his eyes flecked with worry as he ran an eye over her. "Just… be careful, okay? I don't want you to have another…"

 _Incident_.

Luna nodded as she turned around and strolled, a bit more briskly and faster than she was walking before, back down the hall. After she was out of Elis's view, she turned away from the hallway to the Ravenclaw common room and instead headed towards the library.

 _Incident._

When Neville had last found her, when she had been crying, it was after a breakdown. She had been talking to Elis out in the courtyard, and all of a sudden he had brought up how Hogwarts had been so expertly repaired. Luna had nodded along, but soon her thoughts drifted back to the war, back to the people she'd seen die, back to those horrible things…

She had screamed suddenly and ran, towards that corner, that safe house. She had sobbed her eyes out, but then Neville had come, Neville, who had to have been halfway across the castle when she had first got there. He still beat Elis there, still comforted her. Elis had finally found her, and after a long, long talk full of lies about stress and worry causing the breakdown, she had gone to bed.

The library's large wooden doors greeted Luna, and she absentmindedly waved her wand to open them and stepped inside.

Past the large wood slabs, there lay thousands of bookshelves filled to the brim with old tombs and books. Scrolls and notes perched precariously on the edges of shelves and tables. A stack of spare quills and ink bottles filled a cabinet to the left of the doorway.

Luna breathed in the smell of musty paper and leather, immediately feeling at ease. Grabbing an ink bottle, Luna fumbled in her pack for her favorite quill and a leather-bound book she had recently been writing in.

Pulling them out and taking a seat at the table, Luna spread out her supplies and flipped open the book and gazed at the pages. This wasn't a textbook, or notebook—no, this was a _storybook_ , one that Luna herself was writing. It was a tale of magic, of a little witch named Luna and her struggles.

Her current chapter was labeled '5: the Absentminded Wish'. She flipped to the page and, for a moment, took in the gloriously blank paper. Her hand stilled, her breathing slowed, and Luna could hear the welcoming quiet of the library, where she could pour out her thoughts and feelings on paper without risking judgement by others.

With a shaking hand, Luna began to write.

Neville tried to breathe quietly.

Luna had come in the library a few minutes after him—had she been _following_ him? Hopefully not, because that would be a little weird. Not that Luna wasn't weird, or that he didn't like her weirdness. _I mean, I'm pretty weird myself,_ he thought.

He watched her pull supplies from her bag, and set down. At first, he thought she was writing over a textbook—which he would _never_ have done—but a closer glance from a couple shelves down revealed that it was blank, and she was writing the story herself.

Neville strained to see the words from where he was. _I wish I was as good as magic as Hermione,_ he thought. She probably had some spell to magnify his view. Unfortunately, he had to settle with sneaking around shelves and boxes to get closer to Luna—to see if he could read what she was writing.

Neville stopped a couple of rows away from where she sat at the long, wooden study table. The neat scrawl on the pages was still too small for him to read. He gave a quiet sigh, resigning himself to having to go over and talk to her to get to see it.

Pretending to have just gotten a book off the shelf, he stepped out of the aisle and feigned surprise. "Luna!" he exclaimed, trying to not be too loud as to give himself away.

She spun around, eyes wild, but considerably softened when she saw it was just him. "Hi, Neville," she said, a bit suspiciously. "What brings you here?"

"I ran out of things to read," he said. It wasn't necessarily a lie—all he had left to read was textbooks—but Luna bought it anyway.

"Great!" she said, her voice a bit far away. She beckoned him closer, and once he was standing by her side—the book was closed, goddammit. His curiosity was gonna kill him—and asked, "What books have you picked?"

 _Uhm._ Neville quickly looked at the title of the book he was holding and swallowed. "How to Dance Like a Witc— _wizard!_ " he choked out, hiding the book behind his back.

Luna looked ready to laugh. Neville, not wanting to embarrass himself more, quickly got to the point. "What's that?" he asked, pointing to the book.

Luna clammed up, her eyes flicking to the entrance and shelves of the library, like someone might be listening. "It's nothing," she said, a bit too quickly. At his lingering glance, she added, "Just a… story… I'm working on."

 _Like… a fairy tale?_ Neville wondered. Perhaps he was the prince in that story—if she even thought about him when he wasn't around. Unable to stand it, he asked, "Could I read it?"

Luna's mouth opened and closed, not unlike a fish. After a minute, she seemed resigned that he would keep bothering her about it unless she showed him. "Fine," Luna mumbled, flicking the book open to the first page and sliding it along the table.

 _1: An Unlikely Meet_

 _She was lonely. So very lonely. Her mother had left her, years ago, but the pain still burned fresh. She sat in a hallway, crying, sobbing. The cold floors, the cold walls, the cold glass reminded her of how her mother's hands had felt as she slowly died, the sickness ebbing away at her—_

"I realize it's not very good," Luna mumbled.

"No, no," Neville replied. "It's… it's nice."

She gave him a glance that said, _This story is anything but nice._ Neville shrugged, and skipped down a couple paragraphs.

 _—then, a mousy-haired boy came into the hallway. She felt him sit beside him, felt his breath on her back. He spoke softly, like she was a frightened animal. 'Are you okay?'_

 _She was not okay. She was NEVER okay. But she couldn't tell him that. Couldn't share the darkness lurking underneath the bright, sunny surface. So she cried, cried even when on the outside he was brushing away the last of her tears._

Neville didn't know what to think. Was this… him? Regardless, he skipped to the most recent chapter and heard Luna suck in a breath. Glancing at her—she was turned away, ears burning—he returned to the book.

 _5; The Absentminded Wish_

 _Why? She had made that promise. But why? She had Elis, that sturdy rock in this world of despair. But Elis had no idea, Elis couldn't share her fears, Elis couldn't UNDERSTAND. No one could, except that mousy-haired boy. And he could only because he had been touched by the same shadows, ripped apart by the same grief._

 _They were outcasts, and outcasts had nothing but each other._

 _Which is why she wanted so desperately to lunge, to cling on to Elis and any semblance of a normal life. Why she spent so much time socializing when all she wanted to do was sit in the hallway and stare at a wall, glimpsing the happy moments before everything. Went. To. Hell._

 _Regardless, she couldn't explain why the boy was so intriguing. Perhaps it was his lopsided smile, or the way that when he brushed her shoulder something sprang up inside her. Or how he walked down the hallway, like he was such a klutz that he couldn't trust himself to stay up. Or how adorably he came to show concern for her again, and again, and again._

 _But that fire, that fire that he brings—could it chase back the dark? Could he beat Elis's worth in her heart? She had to make a choice, but she didn't know what to choose. No, she didn't know which boy would end the shadows and darkness writhing inside her for good—the one who understood and faced his fears, or the one who could lead her to a normal life, regardless of how little she seemed to be attached to him now._

 _Elis was acting strange with her now, ever since the incident—so careful and cautious—_

Luna slammed the book shut at the same time as Neville realized he had been mouthing the words. "That's enough for today," she said, face burning. "Just… it's enough."

Neville nodded wordlessly, and stood still as Luna quickly put her things away and turned to leave the library. It was only when she neared the doors that he snapped to his senses and asked, "Am I the mousy-haired boy?"

Luna turned around, the light from the hallway past the doors shining around her hair, like it was a halo shrouding her head. "Yes," she whispered, voice laden with emotion. "you are." And she turned around, her hair flying about her, her vivid blue eyes lined with silver, and raced down the hall.

 _Yes._

Neville couldn't believe it—he had a chance. And that… _Elis_ had to be the long-haired, green eyed boy hanging out with Luna.

 _Yes._

Racing down the hall, regardless of how fast she ran, did nothing to erase the embarrassment written all over her face.

But regardless, Luna couldn't help the smile spreading across her face as she remembered how Neville's face had lit up as she told him he was the other boy, the one making her reconsider her love life.

Making her reconsider everything.

And the first time since the war, since the needless bloodshed that still haunted her dreams and memories, Luna felt… happy. Like she was floating on a bubble of air that could be popped any moment, so she'd best enjoy it while she could.

In that moment, Luna made a decision. That smile, the happiness in Neville's eyes, the understanding and that mirror-like reflection of her own soul staring back at her whenever she looked at his face...

Luna would keep her promise.

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE**

Some things that are definitely happening in the next chapter are:

Elis has a surprise ;)

Luna has inspiration

Neville gets to paint and have plants

Hermione meets Luna and they start making something

Draco and Neville have an alliance

Ron gets... well, his fair share.

Harry pops up for a surprise meeting

Veronica gets... _her_ fair share.

Can't wait for the next chapter!

 _...WaitImTheOneWritingItDoesThatEvenMakeSense..._


End file.
